


Old Friends and New

by orchid314



Series: Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018 [10]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Prompt Fic, Retirement, Sussex, Watson's Woes July Writing Prompts 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:06:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchid314/pseuds/orchid314
Summary: Lucy helps Sherlock Holmes plan a surprise.





	Old Friends and New

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July Writing Prompts. Prompt 31: Retirement. Whether it's Holmes and Watson retired together and enjoying the quiet life, Dawson reflecting on his adventures while living in the Mouse Soldiers Home, or some other version, set your work in the retirement era today.

"Good morning, Mr Holmes!"

"Ah. Oh. Hello, Lucy. How do you do?" Mr Holmes had that puzzled look I knew so well. It meant that he had forgot I would be arriving by the morning train from London.

Mr Holmes has a woman in for regular upkeep of the cottage, but I come down to Sussex in the spring and autumn to do a thorough cleaning of the place. Dear Mr Holmes, he will always need someone to help him sort the papers and books that insist on accumulating around him. Several years ago Dr Watson threw up his hands and refused to help with this chore any longer. So it somehow fell to me. Now, Dr Watson sits in his armchair (the old one he brought with him from Baker Street), occasionally offering bits of advice about what to keep and what to throw away, as I hand each article to Mr Holmes for his inspection. Sometimes Mr Holmes will press his lips together and appear to ignore the Doctor, although I know he hears every word. Other times they will have a sharp exchange of opinions and refuse to speak to each other for a while. And then Mr Holmes will make a comment under his breath, thrown away as it were, and Dr Watson will break into a laugh and they'll both smile and it's simply the loveliest thing to behold.

"And who's this, might I ask?" Mr Holmes looked down and offered a gnarled hand to Helen. She's my oldest. We were here on a special errand this summer's day.

"Oh, Mr Holmes, you've met Helen before! But it is true that she has grown quite a bit since the last time you saw her, so perhaps that's why you didn't recognise her. She's here to help us get ready for the great party tomorrow, sir. I can't quite believe the Doctor is turning sixty years old. Just imagine."

"How do you do, Miss Osborn? Enchanted to make your acquaintance. Please. Come in." Mr Holmes always did have beautiful manners, whenever he chose to use them.

Helen pulled in closer to my side. She's a shy girl. Not as tongue-tied as I was when I first arrived in London almost twenty years ago. But it's hard not to be a little overwhelmed when you first meet the Great Detective, as Dr Watson likes to call him when he's set on teasing him.

"Mr Osborn gives you his regards, sir. He's still reforming the shop, and simply has no time for anything else–not even to eat properly most days. So he won't be able to come down for the big celebration after all, I'm afraid. He does wish he could be here, sir."

"Hmm." Mr Holmes had turned and I could tell that he was surveying the work that needed doing before tomorrow. "Shall we go through my papers now, Lucy? Or what do you suggest we tackle first?"

"Never you mind, Mr Holmes. You make yourself comfortable, sir. I'll get you settled with some tea and then Helen and I will begin with the upstairs rooms. Do you know if Mrs Landers is coming later today to help in the kitchen, as she promised? We'll work on your papers after she's gone." 

I always did love that cottage. I remember when I stepped through its door for the first time. There were great crates sitting everywhere. Pictures wrapped in brown parcel paper leaning against the walls of the sitting room. Rugs rolled up and propped in the corners of the house. But you could see right away how the place suited Mr Holmes and Dr Watson right down to the ground. The walls of the front rooms are painted green. Like the colour of a lawn in shade, I suppose you could say. The chairs and sofa, you can almost be swallowed up in their deep cushions, they are so cosy. And the pillows strewn about. The ones that Mrs Hudson, may she rest in peace, embroidered before Mr Holmes and Dr Watson came down to Sussex. The cottage doesn't have the charm of Baker Street, exactly. It's quieter here. But there's a deep kind of welcome you feel immediately you enter. 

Mr Holmes was lying back in his chair when I returned with his tea, Helen following along beside me. "Do you think he knows, Lucy?" he asked, a sparkle in his eye.

I grinned back at him. "I daresay he doesn't suspect a thing, sir. How could he? It was a clever plan you came up with, Mr Holmes. Since the Doctor couldn't very well refuse to pay a visit to Mr Smith."

"Yes, well. Smith owed me a favour. So I thought it was a good time to call it in. Are any of the guests arriving today?"

"Not until tomorrow morning, sir. Drink your tea, and we'll take care of the rest. Just enjoy this beautiful day. Here, shall I open a window for you?"

Helen asked me in a whisper as we made our way back to the kitchen, "What is the plan, Mum, that you spoke about?"

"Well, you see, Mr Holmes arranged for the editor of the _Strand_ –that's the magazine that the Doctor writes for. Well, he arranged for the editor to call Doctor Watson to London, saying he had a matter of great importance to discuss with him. But it was really just to lure the Doctor away from here so that we could make it ready for his birthday. Mr Holmes has had the idea in mind for a while now. Oh, to see the expression on Dr Watson's face when he's caught by surprise!"

"May I give him my gift at the party?" Helen adored Dr Watson. Whenever they met, he always had a kind word for her and sent her, and the other children, books on their birthdays. "Yes, of course you may, my dear." I gave her hair a caress. Helen had sewn the Doctor a little cloth case for his eyeglasses, with bright red lines on a dark ground, so that it should be easy to spot it wherever he might lay it down.

We spent the afternoon busy at our work, laundering linens, mopping floors, airing out rooms. After I had served Mr Holmes his lunch and Helen and I had eaten ours, I told her to rest while I went into the garden to pick flowers and greenery for the party. The cottage's garden is large, with many flower beds extending back from the house, and Mr Holmes oversees them all personally. After all, he says, they're the home and club and laboratory of his bees all bundled into one. "Don't pick the Chapeau de Napoleon rose today–it's the pink cupped one near the music room window. I'll do it tomorrow, myself, since they're Dr Watson's favourite. But you may pick as many of the others as you like." 

It was easy to lose yourself in that garden. The bees aren't like the ones you see elsewhere. They float around you, circling you, and seem to look you straight in the eye. Just like their master, Mr Holmes. If you let yourself follow them, they'll lead you to the most magical places in the garden and then buzz away on their next errand. 

I wandered down the paths, cutting whichever flowers took my fancy and placing them in a wicker basket lined with a cloth. I don't know the names for all the roses, but I do love the albas and the moss roses and the roses that look as if they're wearing dresses of crinkled silk. Bourbon roses, I think Mr Holmes calls them. The gardener, old Mr Empson, would be terribly upset with me for doing what properly belongs with him. But I couldn't help myself. The peach-coloured hollyhocks, drooping and drowsy in the heat. And the clean red poppies. And the clematis vines spilling over the low brick wall. The butterfly bush, with a butterfly swaying on its bloom as a breeze wandered through. 

By the time I walked in from the garden, I felt that sleepiness that comes over you when you've been lazing about in the sun for too long. It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. The basket was heavy on my arm with the cut flowers. I walked down the hall to the sitting room, meaning to show Mr Holmes which blooms I had selected before I set them in jars of water in the scullery. 

Mr Holmes sat at a wooden table next to the far window. He liked that spot particularly well because the light was good for his experiments. There he was, leaning over something that was placed on a little rectangular piece of glass. At first I thought he was mumbling to himself, in that way he has, but then I heard another voice, also speaking in a murmur. It was Helen. She stood against the window, on the other side of Mr Holmes, and he was showing her what the two of them told me later was a monkey's thumb. (Although Dr Watson said they were almost certainly having a laugh at my expense and that it was probably just a piece of bark they were examining.) Helen had lost all her shyness and spoke with Mr Holmes as if they were the fastest of friends. 

They both looked up at me at the same time, and it caught me unexpectedly at the heart. The curious dark eyes in that small round face and the curious light eyes in that old lined one. I smiled at the two of them, because there was really nothing else you could do besides give a silly grin. 

"No, Mr Holmes, don't get up. Stay where you are, both of you. I'll just be in the kitchen, putting these flowers to bed for the night. Tomorrow we'll set them out in great bunches all over the house. Mrs Landers had better arrive soon. She and her neighbour promised me they would help with the cooking and there's a lot of it to do." The day was getting on and there was still a cake to be baked and laundry to be brought in and folded. But I couldn't help turning to look once more at those two dear heads bowed over the object of their investigation, and hear their quiet exchange of conversation in the hush of that Sussex afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to [SCFrankles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles) for her informative guidance about surprise parties in Edwardian England.


End file.
